Earth our great mother,

For thousands of years you

have been raising us to your arena.

Though our lives are like candles in the

Wind, through absurdity that fills your

Surface.

 

Mother still your raining blessings overwhelm

our desert, that we feed with joy in our

Distress.

 

When will you stop nursing Sisyphus,

When will absurdity end in your surface.

But pain is gainful in your arena.

Mother now that you are growing older

As time expires, lives in you also expire.

According to the book

you will soon melt.

I wonder how it will be after your reign

through your devilish silentness in the

Midnight.

A clock epitaph for your grave.